Tweekin': Inside the Crack Game-A Novel

By David Franklyn Bowens

Franklyn had a brilliant head for business when heturned a small beauty salon into a chain of highly successful salons. His success brought him local notoriety, lots of women and Crack cocaine.

Jackie turned to Crack toescape her agony. She had no one to confide in to share the secrets she kept inside her. So, in her diary she wrote how she found the love she needed in Danny and how she lost it in Crack.

Starchild was a talented comedian going places fast and with his silver tongue he convinced many women to be with him. Starchild claimed that he could pimp any woman in the world, but soon found out that Crack was pimping him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 13, 2005
• ISBN: 9781463459017

David Franklyn Bowens

  David Franklyn Bowens was born and raised in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. He also took an interest in the local street life where he learned the art of street hustling. After graduating from high school, he joined the U. S. Air Force, where he was able to travel and experience new cultures. While in the Air Force, he began testing his talent for stand-up comedy and won many awards and praise for his comic routines.     He has since lived many years in Las Vegas, Nevada, where he worked several years as a local radio personality, stand-up comedian and record producer.  He now lives in Seattle, Washington where he spends most of his time writing, lecturing and performing

Book preview

Tweekin’

Inside the Crack Game–A Novel

by

David Franklyn Bowens

missing image file

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

© 2005 David Franklyn Bowens. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 03/02/05

ISBN: 1-4208-3304-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-5910-9 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Foreword

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Part I Hair Raising Experience

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Part II Rapture: Memoirs of a Crack Addict

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Oklahoma City Police Department Incident Report

Part III A Pimp Named Crack

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Foreword

It is extremely difficult to bare one’s soul honestly; however I think that is what David is earnestly attempting to do in this book, Tweekin’: Inside the Crack Game.

David’s journey and my own, crossed paths several years ago and seemed to have culminated in his searing indictment of drug abuse and the out of control behavior he so aptly describes in this book. 

Someone once said, you may be done with the past, but the past isn’t done with you.  I found this to be so true in reading this book; in that, my own betrayal of life was again brought to the forefront in digesting some of David’s most vivid memories of his active addiction. 

Certain literature that is read by recovering addicts mentions that our addiction enslaved us and that we were prisoners of our own mind and were condemned by our own guilt.  We gave up the hope that we would ever stop using drugs, and our attempts to stay clean always failed, causing us pain and misery.  That statement brings me to when my journey and David’s journey crossed paths, in being free of alcohol and drugs and being able to enjoy the fruits of recovery. 

I do hope this book gives hope and inspiration to any addicts still suffering, and remembering that there is hope, there is joy and most of all, there is freedom.

Charles A Franklin, C.C.D.P., B.A. Political Science

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

I heard a line in a movie once that said: ‘Everybody knows a crackhead.’ This is pretty much a true statement, due to the fact that Crack Cocaine has touched the lives, directly and indirectly, more than any other drug since its debut in our society.

You may have a relative, co-worker, friends or associates that are addicted to, and it makes you wonder and form questions like: How do they smoke crack? Where do they smoke crack? How does crack make you feel? Why can’t they stop smoking crack?

Have you ever wondered where your daughter, son or someone that you care about goes and stays for several days? And when they come home they sleep for 24 hours, wake up and eat you out of house and home. The list of questions grows longer every second. Nevertheless, where do you find the truth in the answers? Only from the people that participate in this dark lifestyle and they are usually in no shape to answer them.

Most of the movies that have been produced that deal with the subject of Crack Cocaine, very lightly touch on how crack destroys a person’s life or their families, but they only scratch the surface of what really goes on inside the crack addict’s life, or inside a crack addict’s mind.

The purpose of this book is to answer the many questions you may have about what goes on in the lives of a crack addict and it will also give you a good look behind the scenes of crack addiction from the crack addict’s point of view.

Take a deep breath, a big swallow and walk with me; Inside the Crack Game

David Franklyn Bowens

Acknowledgements

First and foremost I want to thank GOD, for allowing me to go through what I’ve been through to see his divine light, and for giving me his most holy son JESUS CHRIST, my Lord and Savior.

Thank you Lori Tyson, for your swift hands and typing skills. Your emotional response gave me the courage to go forward with this project. Get your hands ready for the next one.

Much thanks and much love to my spiritual leader and his wonderful wife, Pastor Michael & Kimberly Ann Fields, for keeping a constant prayer going for me. Please don’t stop.

And to my church family-Word of Life Bible Fellowship-Thank you for your love, support and encouragement through all of this. May GOD bless you all.

Great appreciation and admiration goes to my good friend and brother in Christ, Minister Kenny Jefferson.

A very, very special thanks goes to my large family. The Bowens and Loves. All of you. It’s just too many of you to name individually; however, I must say a personal thanks to my two sisters; Patricia Bowens-Sykes and Susan Bowens-Collier, who are always there when I need them.

And also to Jackie Briscoe-Hardy my dearest cousin who always sends me birthday cards. Keep GOD in your heart Jackie and he will reconnect what has been divided. I want to also thank Alice Campbell, my sister-in-law for all of her support, artwork, poems and love. My niece Marlena Booker, thank you for your editing skills and for being my niece

Last but not least, I would like to thank the three people that I depend on constantly for their words of wisdom and encouragement; James M. Royal, Charles A. Franklin and Dwight Randolph.

Prologue

Well, it didn’t take long for the festivities to begin. Allen pulled out a package of cocaine, in a form I’ve never seen before. As he dangled a plastic sandwich bag containing what looked like a bag full of teeth, I noticed a change come over our female guest. When at first they seemed quiet and withdrawn, all of a sudden these two ladies became animated and talkative

By the way, my name is Shirley. Said the female sitting closest to me. And this is my cousin Darlene. Allen says you’re from Las Vegas?

Yeah, I said, but, I was born and raised here in OKC.

Oh really? Shirley replied, with mock excitement.

Yep! Really! I responded half hardly, as my attention was turned suddenly to Allen, as I watched him remove a leather pouch the size of an eyeglass case from his pocket. He carefully untied the pouch and slowly removed its contents and placed them on the coffee table.

What are those glass and metal tubes for? I asked.

They’re called straight shooters. This is what we’re gone use to smoke the crack on.

What about that wire there, what you gone do with that?

We use it to push the screens from one end of the straight shooter to the other end.

Why? I asked, with persistence.

Frank! If you’ll just wait a minute, it’ll all come together. Allen said as he reached into the sandwich bag and pulled out one of the tooth shaped pieces of dope. He laid the dope on a small mirror and used a single edged razor blade to cut it in half, and then each half in to quarters. He then picked up a wad of copper brillo – the kind used for scrubbing pots and pans - broke a small piece of it off and stuck it on the end of one of the wires. He reached for his cigarette lighter and burned the piece of brillo until all of the copper was burned off and it was black. He then grabbed one of the glass tubes and stuffed the burned brillo into one end of it and used the wire to make sure it fit tight inside the tube. He picked up one of the pieces of crack and placed it on the end of the tube. Holding his head back, he balanced the piece of crack on the end of the tube until it reached his mouth. He then struck his cigarette lighter, held it to the tip of the tube and inhaled until the crack melted into the brillo. At this point, he straightened his head, held the lighter to the end of the tube and inhaled a long breath and held the smoke from the drug in his lungs. When finally he blew the smoke from the crack out, he then placed the tube into Darlene’s mouth and held the flame again to the end and she inhaled smoke. While holding the smoke in, Darlene’s eyes became large and bucked as her head turned quickly from side to side, as if she was looking for somebody who was in the room one second and gone the next. When I started to speak she interrupted me.

Sshh! Listen! she said, as her head continued to swivel from side to side.

Ooo girl! You otta quit. Shirley said, She alright Frank, she just tweekin’

Tweekin’? I said, What’s tweekin’?

Shirley and Allen looked at each other and started laughing at me and she went on to explain that tweekin’ was what they do, and it was part of the high for some people. Shirley at this time took a special interest in me and asked Allen to let her burn the straight shooter for me. He handed her another glass tube and a piece of crack, then she duplicated what Allen had done, placing the tube between my lips and struck the lighter. I inhaled the smoke just like had I watched Darlene do and held it. After exhaling, I felt nothing other then I had felt before drawing the smoke in my lungs…

Part I

Hair Raising Experience

Part I: Hair Raising Experience

Chapter One

The afternoon was long, cold and wet. I set in the row that was designated for the family, between my brother and oldest sister. The only thing on my mind was her last words to me-‘Franklyn, I haven’t been feeling well lately. I sure would like to see you soon. Why don’t you come home and visit for a few days.’- and the guilt of not coming home to see about her was kickin’ my ass.

The funeral was long because the church was small, and Mama had more friends then the church could hold, but Reverend Davis wanted everybody inside, out of the heavy rain, so the funeral took longer than we expected.

We buried Mama, April 19, 2003 at 2 O’clock pm. Then we all went back to Mama’s house; there were lots of discussions amongst our aunts and uncles as to how my brother, two sisters, and I were going to handle dividing the remainder of Mama’s things between us. A few days earlier, we had told our closest family members (Mama’s favorites), that Mama would want them to have something of hers to remember her by, so we issued out everything, from small trinkets to dress shoes.

We all agreed that my sisters, Diane and Janelle, could divide the bulk of Mama’s things because, when daddy died, three years earlier, my brother Gene and I had split the things he’d left behind, equally between us. Mama’s house was the only thing left for us to discuss.

When I was discharged from the Air Force in 1993, I moved to Las Vegas with my wife Rene and two young daughters, Jasmine and Brandy. Things weren’t going well with our marriage and Rene decided to take our daughters and move to Tacoma, Washington with her mother. Needless to say we divorced within a year.

Our divorce, along with daddy’s death 1994, caused me to strongly consider moving back to Oklahoma City to be close to mama, and to monitor Gene, and the heroin use, which has plagued him since he was discharged from the Army, in 1969. His addiction had gotten worse since daddy’s death. Mama used to call me, sometimes twice a week, asking me to come home and help her with Gene, because his habit had gotten out of hand and has become a problem. But, unfortunately, she died before I had a chance to come home and help.

I remember Gene doing really well with his addiction during the summer I spent at home after discharging from the military. And his helping me to build mama a beauty salon in the back yard, gave us a chance to bond again as brothers. It was the first time my big brother and I had worked on a major project together. It was something truly special. It was really for mama. She was finally able to retire from her job at an uptown beauty salon and start working for herself. It didn’t take long before she had built up a large clientele. Most of them were church members and old friends.

Well, my sisters decided to go back home to their families and leave the care of the house to Gene and me, with one stipulation. I was not to allow Gene to sell any furniture or fixtures from the house, and Gene was to commit himself to the veteran’s hospital’s drug rehabilitation program. We all agreed, and they returned to their homes in Texas and California.

I was excited to be back home for two reasons: one, because I had spent the last two years in beauty college and graduated the top in my class; and two, I could open my own salon right here at the house. Mama’s customers, those that knew I was a hairstylist, approached me and asked if I would take over their hair maintenance, because they didn’t trust anybody else with their hair. Mama used to brag about my winning hair shows in Las Vegas, and so they figured, by having me doing their hair, it was like keeping it in the family. So I took a few appointments.

Within a month I had curled, permed and shampooed just about every customer mama had at church. I had a wooden sign made and placed right in the middle of the front yard – Hair Raising Experience Beauty Salon; Walk-Ins Welcome, For Appointments, Call 384-6123. The sign alone increased my customer volume, and profits, enough for me to run an ad in the Daily Oklahoman’s classified section - Two salon stations for rent. After running the ad for three days, I interviewed ten girls. I picked the two I thought could best handle the customer’s needs, and my temperament. Their names were Debra and Gayle. Debra was the quiet type that only spoke when she was spoken directly to, but you could tell that she listened to and heard everything that was said around her. She was fairly attractive standing around five foot six, weighing about 125, with long light brown hair that was well kept. Gayle, on the other hand reminded me of Chaka Kahn the singer. She was thick, big breasted and had long curly hair, and she always looked like she wanted to start singing; ‘I’m Every Women’.

I charged them $250.00 a month for rent, and assigned to each of them a few of my new costumers, just to get them started.

Things were going well. Gene was out of rehab and working. He even became a paying customer. I, of course, would never have charged my own brother. It was his decision to pay. Meantime, I was making enough money to consider expanding.

Life was good.

Chapter Two

Allen was my best friend from the neighborhood I grew up in, along with his older brother Danny, who died a year before daddy’s death, in 1992. While drinking played a major roll in Danny’s death, a bad pancreas, a deteriorating liver and his heroin and cocaine use did not help. The three of us were like three peas in a pod. We shared a relationship that was more like that of blood brothers, rather than best friends. Danny’s death took its toll on Allen and he started experimenting with drugs. Allen claimed that he was only a social cocaine user and you really couldn’t get hooked on it by snorting it. I figured, what he was doing was not habit forming or dangerous, so I couldn’t see the harm in him experimenting. I too, had done some experimenting with powder cocaine while enrolled in Beauty College. Attending classes for eight hours a day and working a graveyard shift as a security guard, I often found myself snorting the powder to keep awake during classes, but not on a regular basis.

Allen would occasionally stop by the salon to have his hair trimmed or shampooed. When he did, he usually had a gram of coke with him for us to snort. One day, while I was closing up shop for the day, Allen stopped in and asked what I had planned for the night.

I’m gonna fry some chicken and watch some HBO, I told him.

Can you use some company?

I don’t care, I replied. But I might fall asleep on you.

I was talkin’ ‘bout two females and me! He said.

What’s the deal? I asked. Who are they?

Just a couple of crackhead-ass strawberries who like to smoke and party.

What the hell are crackheads strawberries? I asked.

Crackheads are people who are hooked on smoking cocaine, instead of snortin’ it, and strawberries are females that will do anything sexual for some crack cocaine. He replied.

Why do they call it crack?

Because it makes a cracking sound when you put fire to it on the pipe.

I remember reading about Richard Pryor and his bouts with smoking cocaine, but I had never seen anybody actually smoke the drug before. Being curious and wanting to know how it was done, I told Allen, we could kick it with the women.

By the time I’d finished eating; Allen and two unknown women were ringing my doorbell. I invited them all in and led them through the house to the den, where there were a few chairs, a couch and a love seat. The women sat on the love seat facing the coffee table. Allen pulled up a chair and I took a seat in my father’s favorite red crushed velvet lazy boy lounger, also facing the end of the coffee table. Both women were attractive and at first glance they both appeared young, maybe around 19 or 20 years old. I’m thinking these two young women ain’t about to give up no sex to a couple of thirty-something year old fools. But I’ve been wrong before and hopefully I was wrong this time.

Well, it